Lovely Joan

A fine young man it was indeed

He was mounted on his milk-white steed

He rode, he rode himself alone

Until he came to Lovely Joan

Good morning to you, my pretty maid

And twice good morning Sir, she said

He gave her a wink, she rolled her eye

Said he to himself, I'll be there by and by

Oh don't you think these bales of hay

A pretty place for us to play

Come with me like a sweet young thing

And I'll give you my golden ring

He pulled off his ring of gold

My pretty little miss, do this behold

I'll give it to you for your maidenhead

And her cheeks blushed like roses red

Give me that ring into my hand

And I will neither stay nor stand

This would do more good to me

Than twenty maidenheads said she

As he made for the bales of hay

She leapt on his horse and tore away

He called he called but all in vain

And Joan never looked back again